Bleak Resurrection
by ElementalsAdvocate
Summary: On Earth, he was forged. On Elysium, he lost his anonymity. In the aftermath of Akuze, he lost his wife. And in the fires of Torfan, he lost his hope. Now, Lieutenant-Commander Shepard will be forced to rise once again, to face the demons of the past and future, or else perish in the flames of unrelenting history. Earthborn/Soldier/Warhero, with my own twists and OC's. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

**Bleak Resurrection**

**By Elementals Advocate**

Prologue

Captain David Anderson starred out into the blackness of space, and pondered. It was not a usual state for him. Normally, he would be moving, always with some assignment or goal to attain, but for now, he pondered, seeing without really seeing the star speckled void before him.

He was sequestered in a small, private viewing port located on the belly of Arcturus Station, normally used for exhibitions of space craft to new cadets or visiting dignitaries. Now, with the audio emulator's turned off and the lights turned down, the rare ship which passed did so in absolute silence and shadow.

It was quiet. Too quiet; like the calm before a great storm.

A whirr sounded behind him, and Anderson turned in time to see the door open and a man in a Systems Alliance Officer's uniform and wearing the collar tabs of a Major in the Alliance Marines step inside. Though shadowed by a short brim of his hat, Anderson recognized the lined, distinctly Asian face in front of him.

"Ah," said the man in deep, careful tones. "I thought I would find you here." He strode to the window and looked out upon the void.

Anderson studied the man in front of him. Despite being half a head shorter and nearly fifty pounds lighter than Anderson, the Asian radiated the same aura of controlled power and authority. Not surprising, considering that he too was an N7. "You're a long way from Buenos Aires, Director Asagi."

Major Hiroto Asagi nodded his head affably. "I am. And its Sub-director Asagi now, don't forget."

"Bullshit." Anderson's reply was terse and without humor. "You still run the N-School, even if it is from the sidelines. And that's why you're here, isn't it? You're here for the Spectre conferences.

Asagi smiled, affable as a doting grandfather. "But of course. Despite my current position, I was Director of Alliance Special Forces Training for nearly seven years, after all. And many of those now under consideration were trained by my hands."

"It's going to be Shepard, isn't it."

Asagi turned his head and raised one grey eyebrow. "I will admit, Commander Shepard is on my short list of candidates. But I trust that what I say will have little impact-"

"You can cut the act at any time, Hiroto-sama." Anderson's use of the honorific was ironic. "We both know that Shepard's the only man with all the requirements necessary to make it as a Council Spectre. He's got the experience, the reputation, and the drive. He'd be perfect. Except he'll hate it. And he'll hate us for electing him!"

Asagi turned fully and regarded the Captain with what could only be described as polite scorn. "Anderson, we've known each other for a long time. We both graduated N7 in the same class; you, the first, and I the oldest. While you and the others earned your bloody stripes on Shanxi, I was teaching the next generation what it meant to fight the way we do. It's brutal, it's ugly, but it's necessary. And no other organization in this galaxy recognizes this philosophy better than the Spectres, and no other person in this Alliance better performs these duties than Shepard. You may know and love the man, Anderson. But I know the monster that lurks within the man. And all Spectre's are monsters in one form or another."

Anderson leapt from his chair and seized the sub-director by the arm. "Damn it Asagi! Shepard's just started putting his life back together. Can you honestly tell me that you think he doesn't deserve a break?"

Asagi's arm twitched beneath Anderson's grasp, steel-wire muscles bunching and twisting like a bridge cable under enormous pressure. "What I think," Hiroto said quietly, relentless, "doesn't enter into this. There is only what must be done. Shepard will either rise to the challenge, or he will die in the attempt. It is his way. It is the Spectre's way. As you well know." Hiroto drew out the last four words like a blacksmith drawing steel.

Anderson recoiled, folding back into the row of chairs. Hiroto gave a short, sharp bow. "Good day, Anderson-san," before he turned and left the room.

Anderson sat again in the darkness and silence, eyes staring blindly into the void, remembering another time and place. Of a boy, not fully grown into man, lying near dead on a pebbled beach. Then that same man-boy killing gangers with furious ease in the streets of Vancouver. Of burning all the pieces of a life on the streets in a burn barrel before donning a new life like a new set of clothes. Anderson had watched as that same boy grew in a matter of years into a war-hero, a husband, a widower, and a feared killer, always wearing his life like a set of clothes while something inside writhed in rage, longing to get out.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

"God help us." Anderson said into that silence, praying desperately that someone, somewhere would hear him. "God help us all."

**Authors Notes**

**I've been holding this story in my mind ever since I first started playing Mass Effect 3 in Spring of 2012. Since then I've covered all three games, read the books, and done hours of research on the wiki's and forums, and not least of all, deviantart. Now, I'm actually going to publish a fanfiction for the first time. I'll try and bring out a new chapter at least once a month until I hit my stride. Read, review, and enjoy everybody. This is going to be an adventure for all of us!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Bleak Ressurection**

**By ElementalsAdvocate**

**Chapter 1:**

The alarm went off, and Lieutenant-Commander Shepard's eyes popped open. At the same time, the door of his sleeper pod unlocked and opened with a silent but subtle hiss of air. Still dressed in his BDU's, Shepard hauled himself out of the pod and stepped down into the corridor. Around him, other pods lowered from their active positions and popped open in their turn, disgorging the rest of the forty-some crew which comprised the day shift.

Systems Alliance warships were designed like old fashioned submarines: Tubular with little or no acknowledgement to aesthetics or personal space, and the SSV Hong Kong, a first generation heavy frigate, was no different. As such, space was at a premium. However, the navy had replaced the hot-bunk method of housing its crew with sleeper pods. Climate regulated, the crewman had access to sleep-number comfort and could even pipe music through the pod while they got their forty winks, and in the event of a loss of gravity, the pod kept the crew from floating away without having to resort to belts or braces like the first star ships back in the 21st century.

The pod next to Shepard's descended, and a tousle-headed blond rolled out with a groan. "God's damn it, I've been doing this for nearly five years and I still can't find the right comfort level on those things."

"You might get more sleep if you didn't insist on playing music half the night" Shepard replied sternly.

"Commander, the only reason I get any sleep with Rogers," this to a groggy eyed young man who was just breaking out into a deep leonine yawn, "snoring half the shift is thanks to my music."

"Whatever your reasons," Shepard raised his voice to fill the whole corridor, "you're still expected at your station by 0600 prompt. Move along now."

With general moans and groans the crew proceeded down the corridor to the showers. Shepard stayed back to chivvy a couple of late-risers on their way, before following the crowd to the showers.

After a quick shower, Shepard got his toiletry bag out of his locker and stepped over to one of the sinks in the shower room before giving his face a critical examination.

His face had once been described as "perfect for brooding," with sharp black eyebrows which peaked across the top of his heavy brow ridge, over a pair of brown eyes which ran from dark to light depending on his mood. A straight, broad nose bisected his face, with deep etched lines along each side. A broad mouth was set between his nose and the edge of his strong, chiseled jaw. Solid cheekbones spread the skin of his face even wider, giving him a raw-boned appearance and hollowing his cheeks. Faint scars, old reminders of battles past crisscrossed his pale skin, one down the bridge of his nose and another, barely more than a faint discoloration, ran along the side of his bull neck to mark the time a Kyshock harpoon from a Batarian pirate had nearly ripped his head off. It was a face made for passion, strength, and sorrow. Each of those emotions had crossed it and a thousand others besides in his twenty-nine years of life. It was his face, after all.

Black stubble had appeared on his chin and upper lip during the night, and his short black hair that he kept swept down over his forehead was in need of a trim, so Shepard went to work, razor humming as he worked it up and down the line of his jaw and across his cheeks until the black fuzz disappeared. Then, he used the fine edge on his razor to even out the shag he had begun to accumulate, before putting everything back in the bag.

Ablutions completed, Shepard finally opened his locker and slipped into his undress uniform, a light-weight long-sleeved form-fitting thermal undershirt and under pants, before belting on a pair of heavy black cargo pants with plenty of deep pockets. Then a pair of heavy black boots and a light flack vest went over the top before rolling up the sleeves and buttoning them in place. Finally, a heavy belt with an incorporated shield generator cinched around the waist. The shield generator had become a necessity in space, as accidents did happen and the seconds of time offered by the shield had saved countless lives before.

Shepard stopped only briefly in the mess hall to grab a glass of orange juice and a nutrient bar, which he chugged down as quickly as possible before stepping into the elevator and heading up the Bridge. By the schedule, they should be arriving at the Exodus-2 Relay within a few hours, and as Executive Officer, he had duties to perform.

The Hong Kong was an aging frigate, one of the last of the original line of Trafalgar-class frigates to come through the Charon Relay nearly thirty years ago. Though battle-scared, the Hong Kong had nevertheless served with honor and dignity, and after a six month tour in the Attican Traverse, hunting down pirates, showing the flag and general exploration for the Alliance, was finally coming home to Arcturus Station for some much needed retrofitting.

The elevator doors opened, and Shepard was engulfed in the sounds of a quiet and purposeful dance of chaos and order.

The bridge took up the entire top deck of the Hong Kong, nearly a third of the vessels length and half its width. The elevator was located towards the stern, and opened out onto the CIC, or Command Information Center. A walkway ran down the center of the bridge, while work stations and information consuls covered each wall. There were twenty four stations in all, twelve to a side, only half of which were filled by personnel, dealing with everything from fuel consumption and energy discharge to weapon readouts and astronomical data, lit only by the running lights and the orange glow of the holographic screens.

Shepard strode down the walkway to the forward end of the bridge. Here was the Captain's chair and station, located just behind the pilot's station and the reinforced windows looking out onto the vastness of space. Currently, that seat was occupied by Staff Lieutenant Khardesh Soong, a middle aged man of Indian/Chinese descent who had served on the Hong Kong since his first posting as a wet-behind-the-ears serviceman.

"Good morning Commander," Soong greeted Shepard with smile before breaking into an unstoppable yawn.

"Difficult night Lieutenant? Anything to report?"

"A tolerable one Commander," Soong replied agreeably. "We pushed the old girl to make it to the Relay ahead of schedule. Perkins objected. I suspect he was looking forward to a little free time to pursue some romantic activity with some of the off-duty staff before we arrived, but I reminded him that he was on duty and got him back on track."

Shepard chuckled. Lieutenant Ronald Perkins ran the night shift for the Engineering department, and had a reputation as a rake. If he hadn't been so good at his job, he probably would have been drummed out of the service for conduct unbecoming of an Alliance officer. So far, he had toed the line. It helped that everyone knew he was married, and was possessed of a fairly equitable attitude, so everyone treated his romantic propositions with good humor.

"Get some coffee Lieutenant. You're relieved."

"Thank you Commander." Soong stood and stretched, getting the kinks out of his back and popping his neck in the process. "Maybe I can get in a chapter of Zane Grey while I'm at it."

Shepard sat down and quickly skimmed through the nights reports. The eezo core showed nominal output, no medical emergencies in the night. One of the fuel cells that had been damaged in an engagement with a turian freighter turned pirate was starting to lose efficiency, but Perkins had signed off on it to be seen to by the crews at Arcturus Station. Everything was in order.

"Captain on the Bridge." Shepard and every other person on the bridge from the CIC to the armorcrys windows rose to their feet and saluted.

Captain Samantha Cooley, five foot ten in her booted feet, strode down the CIC with a confidence born of over thirty years serving in the Systems Alliance Navy. Dressed in her full military uniform with its deep blue coat, gold markings and cap pulled down to a rakish angle, she projected an aura of absolute command and unstoppable optimism over all she surveyed. "At ease ladies and gentlemen. It's not like we're going to war after all."

That got a few laughs. The bureaucracy of the Alliance military tried to smooth matters as much as possible for its servicemen and women but it was still a trial to some to get through the sheer amount of paperwork demanded by the higher-ups, that more than a few likened it to the infamous Gordian Knot of legend.

Captain Cooley came level with Shepard. After a quick nod, she sat down and started going through the reports. "Anything I should be aware of Commander?"

"Sorry Captain. As always, Mr. Soong leaves us next to nothing to deal with come morning."

"Yes. Such a failing, to be punctual in the discharge of his duties."

Their banter was cut short by the Hong Kong's pilot, Flight-Lieutenant Kiviuq Icelander, an Inuit of a dozen generations who had joined the Alliance against the wishes of his parents. "Approaching the relay Captain."

Cooley stood up, and she and Shepard walked to the windows to watch. From the depths of space and the surrounding stars, it shone like a star itself; A Mass Relay. Two fifteen kilometer arms of silver-white metal jutted into inky blackness from a base of similar metal, five kilometers long and five kilometers high. A mass of eezo in a gyroscopic array hung in the center of the construct, ready and waiting. The proverbial warp gate. Built by a long extinct race of beings known only as the Protheans, the Relay's represented the pinnacle of mass effect technology, and were the only means of a united galaxy to bridge the vast gulfs of empty space.

"I swear, as long as I live, I shall never tire of this sight," Shepard heard Captain Cooley murmur softly, a touch of southern drawl breaking through her usual professional demeanor.

The Hong Kong slipped in along beside the relay, a remora besides the bulk of shark. The eezo core of the relay flared, and the Hong Kong ripped forward with a boom that rocked the whole ship. Stars blurred into infinity as the frigate knifed through space at faster than light speeds.

"Approaching Arcturus Relay," Kiviuq announced, "arriving in 3…. 2…. 1!"

The Hong Kong suddenly decelerated, dropping out of FTL with a shudder. The flashing view of passing lights seen from the windows snapped back to the normal black and star speckled void.

Immediately in front of them, two dreadnoughts, a carrier, a dozen cruisers, and a pack of assorted heavy and light frigates hung in the void, forward weapon emplacements all pointing (not at the Hong Kong) but in their general direction.

"Helmsman, send the standard greetings," Cooley called back to the CIC. "Let Arcturus know we've arrived."

"Aye aye, Captain." The comm. officer called over his shoulder before turning back to his screen and pressed a few buttons. "Alliance Command, this is the SSV Hong Kong. Requesting permission to dock?"

"Stand by Hong Kong." The reply was in a firm, decidedly female voice. A minute later, the MC croaked again. "Request granted Hong Kong, and welcome home."

The _Hong Kong_ passed the picket line, skirting respectfully around the blue and grey bulk of the _Kilimanjaro_, the first of the second generation alliance dreadnoughts. Passing the cruisers _Philadelphia_, _Richmond_, and _London_, and acknowledging her sister ship _Trafalgar_ with a little shake of her port nacelles, before swooping past the grey and white mammoth fighter-carrier Einstein as she hung out at the rear.

Once past the picket line, the Hong Kong picked up speed, headed for L5 Lagrange Point of the gas giant Themis, second planet of the Arcturus Stream system of the Milky Way. Less than thirty minutes of knifing through the outer system and the gas giant grew into view, a giant ball of red and yellow streaks hanging in the pristine darkness. Hovering calmly off the L5 Lagrange point, Arcturus Station swung into view. The beating heart of the Systems Alliance military and home to the Alliance Parliament.

The Station had originally been built on the simple Torus design. A ring five kilometers in diameter, capable of supporting up to a hundred thousand residents, the Alliance Parliament and a small military garrison and shipyard. However, with the advent of the First Contact War and subsequent peace, the station had been significantly expanded. Two fifteen kilometer long arms had been installed underneath the station, running parallel to one another and formed a channel similar to the ancient port of Carthage in North Africa. Those arms served as the Alliance's Pentagon, containing training grounds, dockyards capable of building anything from the swift fighters and interceptors to the mightiest dreadnoughts, and barracks for over three hundred and fifty thousand Alliance military personnel. The Alliance Parliament still worked out of the old torus ring, and also served as the living place of the Alliance Prime Minister.

Hundreds of space vehicles circled around the station, an intricate dance of military and civilian craft, from tiny military shuttles to large tramp freighters. Kiviuq had to keep a close eye on his flight path in order to avoid running in to someone. Slowly and carefully the Hong Kong slid down into the gap between the arms of the station, past bristling gun emplacements and missile banks, past fighter bays and sensor stations, until finally reaching their designated berth, halfway along the starboard arm just below the ring.

With considerable aplomb Kiviuq eased their weary vessel into place. Docking clamps extended and shudders passed through the ship as the clamps latched on and pulled the Hong Kong into the arm of the station itself. Gantries and metal paneling replaced the black void through the bridge viewers. Every man and woman stayed at their station until the ship came to a complete stop.

"Docking clamps in place, boarding ramp engaged, all systems are green Captain."

"Nicely done, Lieutenant," Cooley called, giving Kiviuq a warm smile of satisfaction and approval that made the dusky skinned native of the North Atlantic blush.

Cooley switched on the 1MC, the ship-wide communications system. "Crew of the Hong Kong, this is the captain speaking. After six months of hard work, we've finally come home to Arcturus Station. Now I know that everyone has been looking forward to their leave, but I would like to say a few words before you head off to whatever pastimes you desire most."

"First, I just want to say that I am proud to have served with each and every one of you. I captain couldn't have asked for a better crew, and believe me that's saying something."

"Second, I would like to congratulate in advance those of you will shortly find themselves promoted for their service, goodness knows, you deserve it." That got a few appreciative chuckles from the direction of the CIC.

"Last but not least, I would like to invite all of you to return to my command once your leave is over. I realize that is out of my hands, but a Captain can hope. Enjoy your leave, everyone"

With that, Cooley turned off the PA system and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. Shepard slowly began to clap, and the entire bridge joined in.

When the clapping died down, most of the crew got back to their work. Just because they were docked, didn't mean that they could just get up and leave their stations.

"Mr. Shepard."

He turned. Captain Cooley was looking at him with an oddly intent expression. "What I said goes double for you. I don't know where you're to be posted next, but if you ever want to come back here and be my XO, I'll be proud to have you."

Shepard kept his face impassive, though a small glow of gratitude filled his breast. He bowed formally to the Captain, before he turned back to his station.

A man's work is rarely over for long.

….

It was three hours before Shepard managed to collect his belongings and get off the Hong Kong. Various crewman and officers had wanted to say their good-byes, and then it had taken Shepard nearly an hour-and-a-half to get matters settled so that the Hong Kong could be brought into dry-dock.

By the time he managed to step off ship and through the containment doors of the docking port, there were only a few people on the promenade.

Most were Alliance personnel going about their business. However, there was one, an older gentleman of African descent waiting off to one side that Shepard immediately recognized, and walked towards him, calling out, "Anderson, good to see you. Have you been waiting long?"

David Anderson, Captain and commander of the cruiser Tokyo, N7, straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. He was a tall man, over fifty years old but still as strong as any man half his age. His face was the color of ebony, full of character and his eyes twinkled with happiness at seeing his friend again. "Not long. I knew you would probably be held up taking care of things."

The two men embraced in a bear hug, as old friends and comrades. Anderson pulled back and looked his protégé up and down. "You're looking good. Better than when you left, certainly."

"It's amazing what three meals a day and nobody shooting at you on a regular basis can do for a guy," Shepard replied with a straight face.

They laughed, then fell in step as they proceeded down the corridor. They walked as old friends walked, unconsciously matching each other's stride.

"So where are you off to," Anderson asked?

"Elysium. I've already been relieved of duty."

"Got time for a bite to eat?"

Shepard shrugged non-committedly. "The shuttle gets here in an hour."

"And doesn't leave for another three. Come on, Shepard, you're probably dying for something other than freeze-dried military rations. I know this quiet little restaurant on the ring, makes the best omelet on the station. Besides, I've got some news I want to share."

Thirty minutes later, the pair were ensconced in the back booth of the Cosmo Café, with an un-paralleled view of the main promenade of Arcturus Station. Outside their window, the green parks and white buildings climbed into the ceiling beyond their sight, while a floor below them, Alliance personnel, civilian and soldier alike, went about their daily business with care and fervor.

"You still take your coffee in the British style, don't you Shepard?" Anderson teased Shepard as their waitress bustled over with the coffee pot. For answer, Shepard poured his mug half-full of coffee, filled it the rest of the way with skim milk, stirred in a vigorous helping of sugar, let it settle, then knocked the whole cup back before setting the mug back on the table with a shake of his head.

Anderson laughed. "Guess that puts me in my place." He poured a cup for himself, with only slightly less aplomb then Shepard, before sitting back and sipping his beverage gratefully.

Their meals arrived; an omelet with diced peppers and hashed potatoes for Anderson with a side of bacon, and scrambled eggs with sausage, bacon, and hash potato platter for Shepard, with a bowl of mixed fruit to share. They dug in, each simply enjoying the others company.

"Anything interesting happen since your last message," Anderson asked?

"A turian freighter, sending out false distress signals near the Armstrong Nebula gave us a bit of a scare about two weeks ago. Bastards sent out their distress signal, we arrive to give aid, and as soon as we docked with the freighter two overpowered corvettes jumped us. Unfortunately for the pirates, they didn't expect a full team of heavily armed marines to take the freighter in five minutes and even the odds."

"I can imagine," Anderson chuckled.

"The Hong Kong destroyed one of the corvettes and the other limped off with its tail between its legs. Even so, we lost a couple of good men, and it took nearly forty-eight hours towing the freighter back to the nearest station for repairs. But enough about me; what's this news you've got to share? Is it something to do with the Tokyo?"

"No."

"What then? Don't tell me someone's making a statue of you!"

"No." Anderson's grin was infectious.

"They're giving you command of a dreadnought. You've been promoted to Fleet Admiral. The Consort is coming to visit the station, and you're the guest of honor!"

"Not even close." Anderson leaned closer to Shepard, "I've been given command…. of the Normandy!"

Shepard was nonplussed. "Normandy? Is that a new ship?"

"Completely new. She's a prototype frigate, combined human and turian design. She's got an eezo core bigger than a dreadnought's and a revolutionary stealth system that's going to change the face of space warfare as we know it. SR-1 is her designation, Stealth Reconnaissance-1."

Sheaprd stroked his chin reflectively. "I thought stealth systems were supposed to be impossible for ships because emissions from the drive core would cause the ship to be detected?"

"The system isn't so much about hiding as it is about covering your tracks," Anderson explained. "The emissions are bottled up while the stealth mode is active, and can be released once the coast is clear. It doesn't make you invisible, the other guy can still see you, but sensors can't detect you."

"Sound's plausible," Shepard commented noncommittally, raising his lukewarm coffee to his lips.

"And I want you to be my Executive Officer."

Shepard choked, coughed, and barely managed to restrain himself from hurling his mug into Anderson's face. "What the-hell!"

Anderson waited until Shepard got his coughing under control before he continued. "Shepard, times are changing. The System's Alliance borders are expanding every day. The Council races are starting to take greater notice of us and its thanks in no small part to their funding and technology that the Normandy even exists. If humanity is going to continue to grow in this galaxy, the Normandy needs to work. I… need it to work," and for a moment Anderson's face betrayed fatigue before disappearing behind his zeal. "And to do that I need people who have been tried and tested. You're the best man for the job. I've received nothing but glowing reports from Captain Cooley-"

"Anderson, STOP!"

Anderson immediately quieted at Shepard's bull-whip interjection.

Shepard took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, "Anderson, I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I've decided to resign my commission."

Anderson's face went blank. "You can't be serious-"

Shepard slogged on. "Anderson, I made a vow that I would serve in the Alliance for ten years to make up for what I did during my ten years on the streets. The ten years are up. In that time I've been shot at, stabbed, burned, tortured, married and widowed in less than a week. I've seen good men die, and aliens prove themselves better men than the men! I've been betrayed for causes and ideals that were not my choosing or support, and frankly, I don't think that I can go much further in the Alliance with my record. People are afraid of me, and for good reason. So I'd like to bow out gracefully before something happens to make a monster out of me."

Anderson starred at Shepard inscrutably. He put his large hands on the table, large hands from handling weapons and lifting weights. Careworn hands, from old fights and responsibilities. Tempered hands, made dexterous by the powerful mind behind them.

"David Shepard. I know that you haven't had the best life in the world. God knows you deserve a bit of peace after everything you've been through. But if there's one thing I've learned in all my years as a soldier, it's that we often don't get to choose how we serve. But we can choose to commit ourselves to it, and that makes all the difference."

Shepard was… unconvinced.

"If you won't do it for the Alliance," Anderson said, voice rising with temper, "do it for yourself. Surely a few more months on the Alliance's paycheck can't hurt while you sort out where you're going to go?"

"I need to go," Shepard said abruptly. He stood up, grabbed his bag, said "Thanks for the meal," and walked out of the restaurant.

Anderson stayed in his seat, head bowed. He watched as Shepard's black-haired head bobbed through the crowds outside the restaurant before disappearing into the throng.

"Well old boy," he murmured, "that could have gone better."

Anderson's omni-tool suddenly flared. There was a message for him at this office.

Anderson paid for his meals and left the restaurant, hurrying through six levels to reach his temporary office. Upon entering, he shut and sealed the door, checked that his encryption protocols were in place, before pulling up the holographic screen on his desk. The scarred and greying face of Admiral Steven Hackett, commander of the Alliance's Fifth Fleet sprang into being on his terminal.

"Admiral," Anderson saluted automatically.

"At ease Captain." Hackett's gravel voice sounded clear from the speakers. " I assume that Shepard's already left?"

Anderson nodded in answer. Hackett scowled. "I was hoping to catch up with him before he went on leave."

"With the mood he's in, I'm afraid you wouldn't have much to talk about," Anderson replied grimly, "He confided that he's thinking of resigning his commission."

"Well, that might be more difficult than he thinks," Hackett said darkly.

"The Council has sent its report then?"

"Yes. And only one, out of all the candidates, was accepted."

"I knew it." Anderson rested his head on his hands. "And he just told me that he wanted to bow out gracefully before he could become a monster."

"The Spectres aren't monster's Anderson."

"No, but they've got monster's in them," Anderson snapped.

Hackett was silent. Then, "The good news is, we know the name of the Spectre who elected Shepard for the training. A turian by the name of Nihlus Kyrik. I've read his file, and it's extensive, to say the least. One of the Councils best operatives."

"So was Saren," Anderson replied bitterly.

Hackett stared at Anderson. "Do I need to call Shepard off his leave and have this talk with him now," the admiral asked bluntly?

Anderson sighed, reigning in old feelings of anger and bitter disappointment. "No, no sense in pushing him any further Admiral. I still think leaving the window open and a plate of food on the table for him is our best bet. Maybe that will be enough. I'll contact him again in a couple of days. "

Hackett peered carefully into Anderson's face before nodding. "Alright, we'll do this your way. On to other matters: how soon can the Normandy be ready for her test flight?"

"The overseer sent by the Turian Hierarchy should be arriving any time now. Captain Dillard is already standing by with his pilot to get underway as soon as they get here."

"Good. Let me know how it plays out. And David-"Hackett pursed his lips. "I worry about him too. Hackett out."

The message window closed, and the room was plunged into darkness for a moment before the lights came back on. Anderson resignedly pulled up another holographic screen and began looking at the duty roster. He would need to have a pilot waiting to escort the turian's overseer as soon as he or she got to the station. Maybe once he got busy, he could stop worrying about the memory of a burning chemical plant and a grey-white metallic face with cruel blue eyes, twisted in righteous vindication.

_I worry about him too Hackett. But do we worry enough to protect him from the machinations of Saren? Time will tell I guess._

**Author's notes: This Chapter took much longer than I thought it would. I modeled Major Asagi and Captain Cooley after Hikaru Sulu and Katherine Janeway from Star Trek, respectively. Next stop, Elysium!**


End file.
